I shove him so hard he stumbles back onto his ass. “Quinn. Go to bed. You’re drunk.”

“I’m high too.” He pulls out his vape pen. “Surpriseeeeeeee.”

“Go,” I say again. “This isn’t fair to her.”

He seems to sober, then gets on his feet, still swaying, and walks out of the room, slamming the door behind him.

“Sorry,” I whisper. MB seems out of it, so I grab her hand and bring her back to our seats and sit, then grab her a bottle of water.

She sways a bit, takes it, and starts chugging it like her life depends on it. The room is blurry, and I’m starting to crash. She grabs one of the blankets and lays down on the couch, motioning for me to come sit, the movie’s still playing around us, but I see like four Johnny Depp instead of one.

“Not the best idea,” I mutter. “With school in the morning.”

“Let’s skip…” She moans, “Too tired to think hard.”

She smells like sunshine, or maybe I’m just so drunk I’m hallucinating, but I pull her into my arms, covering us both with the blanket, then press my mouth to her neck and just breathe her in.

She wiggles closer to me until there’s no space between us. It’s one of my favorite moments. Her eyes meet mine, and for a minute, I think she’s going to pull away or come to her senses or maybe even kiss me. Instead, she just tucks her body into mine and whispers. “I miss you.”

“Hating me is smarter than missing me,” I say like a fucking philosopher.

“Maybe I’ll just be dumb then.”

“Can I be dumb with you?”

“Do you know how to act that well?”

I laugh. “You really are drunk.”

“And dumb,” she adds again.

“So dumb.” I hold her tighter. The last thing I remember is the smell of her perfume and her little hands clinging to me as she drifts off to sleep.

Chapter Thirty-Three

Mary-Belle

I wake up to a pounding headache in the back of my skull and a sexy beast of a foster brother lying next to me, one arm behind his head, the other underneath mine, cradling me close to him. The blanket’s still covering my body but not his. He’d taken off his shirt sometime in the middle of the night, but he was still wearing his sweats.

“Something died in my mouth last night.” He groans and sits up.

“That’s one of the most romantic things you’ve ever said to me.” I barely have a voice and am so parched that I’m going to need to brush my teeth with a gallon of toothpaste and then follow it up with a gallon of water and four ibuprofen to even feel human.

“I try.” He holds out his hand after getting up, looks down, and curses. “Ignore my dick. It’s just thinking… hard.”

“Very hard by the looks of it.” I tilt my head. “Almost overachieving, aren’t we?”